Hey, Ray

There are rain clouds in the area; it is Monday night.
I woke up and had to get my bearings...

One time I woke up with 7 hours of sleep in me, and almost stayed up.

Had I had dragged myself into the kitchen and popped some instant coffee in the microwave for 45 seconds, I would have started my day then.

I had consumed a lot of sugar the night before. Plus, I had eaten a po-boy that a young lady had given me at the Lilly Pad. "It's sandwiches; they're good," she had said.

I stuffed the bag in my pack, behind the excuse of not wanting to get a chunk of sandwich into my harmonica; and so that, if the sandwich was bathed in soy mayonnaise, I wouldn't have to eat it in front of her to show my appreciation.

I opened the bag when I was done playing, which had indeed, one foot long poboy sandwich that had about 4 sections to it, each one different -one stretch tasted like tidy Joe's (sloppy Joe's that wasn't dripping out) and there was a ham and cheese and olive part (trying to emulate a muffalatta) and I wound up eating the whole thing, after taking a couple bites at the Lilly Pad, and then taking it back out for some more outside the Quartermaster. Little did I know that I was following in the footsteps of Brad Pitt by eating an "All that Jazz" poboy

It was so good that I had to try to figure out where it had come from; it may have even come from the Quartermaster, I thought. I'll have to tell them how good their po-boys are...

There was a Verti Marte receipt in the bag, though, which also contained a Styrofoam of macaroni and cheese and another of cole slaw and enough napkins to keep me out of the toilet paper aisle for a while.

Verti Marte is the most direct competition to the Quartermaster, being also open all night, right down the street from it, known far and wide for their "sandwiches," as well as for the local celebrities that go there.

The po’boys deserve 5 stars, and by all means, get an All that Jazz – a $9.50 po-boy of grilled ham, turkey and shrimp, two cheeses, grilled mushrooms, and tomatoes on grilled French bread with “Wow Sauce.” -from pursuitist.com

Brad and Angelina (Pitt) and children. "It's sandwiches,"

in the bag, as they leave The Verti Marte...

I should have been full and not even interested in going into Rouses Market before they closed, but had already forgotten that I had eaten the foot-long thing, by the time I got there.

The Munchies

This is another effect of smoking good weed -the munchies.

I can remember standing in front of an open pantry, munching down a bag of Bugles, to keep me going, while I looked over the items, trying to find something to eat.

I can also remember coming home from my job as a bar-back at Scampi's Lounge and Restaurant, when I was a worldly 17 year old still living with his parents, and toasting up three quarters of a loaf of bread and eating it with butter and rhubarb marmalade (made by my grandmother in Vermont).

 French Quarter residents Pitt, Angelina Jolie and their children were recently photographed exiting the newly opened deli with snacks. “They came in and got some juice and chips and stuff like that for the kids,” a source told People Magazine. “They don’t get a lot of pop for the kids. They like to get the whole family out and walk around on a pretty day like today.”

A Lot Of Pwank

I would put 4 slices in the toaster and push them down.
As soon as they popped up toasted, I would push 4 more slices down.

It worked out nearly perfectly that, after I had buttered and marmaladed and eaten the first 4 slices and was licking my fingers, Pwank!, up came the next 4.

I would get the next batch started, and go to work buttering and marmalading and eating. 20 pieces of toast later, I would twist back up what was left of the bread.

My parents, perhaps hearing the pwanking of the toaster at 2:30 AM, might have thought I had been pretty hungry, to have made 5 whole slices of toast. Multiply that by 4, and I guess they were right.

Of course, as a worldly 17 year old, who worked at a hip and happening night spot*, I had no idea what the price of a loaf of bread was, then, nor what percentage of what I had made the entire night three quarters of a loaf of it cost.

It was hoped that I would stay in college, land a good job, and then never have to worry about that price.

A Good Segue...

After making about 13 bucks at the Lilly Pad, and eating the po-boy, I got a cup of coffee and a can of cat food. The 13 bucks would about break me even after what I'd spent that day.

It was still early enough for me to get to Rouses Market, where I had 8 minutes before they closed at 1 AM, to roam the aisles.

The pressure was too much for me; and I wound up buying a couple bananas just to exit gracefully, and make them think that they hadn't let me in at the last minute just so I could buy nothing.

There was a pack of beef "soup bones" which had been marked down to $2.99.

Pretty good price for soup bones, right?

I don't know, either.

Rouses could put a price of, say, $7.49 on something, cross it out and, under it, put "Today's Special: $2.99!," and I would probably pounce on it like I was trying to protect everyone in the store from a live grenade, wrap myself around and corral it, like a football player recovering a fumble.

Soup bones, in action...

I had to think about the soup bones...as the 8 minutes ticked down to under 5...the meat on them is usually pretty good, but they are intended more to be used as soup "stock,' supplying plenty of marrow, good for the soul...

But, I already had a glass full of marrow in the refrigerator at home, the top layer had coagulated into like a wax, which kept the liquid in the bottom layer from evaporating (that would be the water that the bones were boiled in).

Enough bone marrow at home, already. The flour tortillas for $2.99 are $2.49 at the Ideal Mart; the Smuckers natural peanut butter for $3.59 is $2.49 at Wal-Mart....

Rebuilding

I loaded Audacity onto this laptop at the click of a mouse, but am having technical issues with recording more than one track that I won't go into.
I found and downloaded the free drum sounds from 99sounds.com...
I have OpenShot video editor waiting to make cat videos.
And, I put the GIMP graphical image manipulator program on, so I can get back to that kind of artwork, cartoons and stuff.

Oh, yeah. The GIMP editor...

*the Scampi's job, I had gotten after starting out as a dishwasher there. I was a dishwasher who could work in a 108 degree kitchen without complaining.

I had told the owner, Jimmy Fusco at one point, that my dad was 100% Italian (according to what scanty information was made known to me through the Catholic Social Services*** organization that I had been adopted through).

Jimmy was happy to hear this, and, after the job of bar-back opened up, and I had said: "I'll do it," as he was telling the kitchen manager, Ray**, to be on the lookout for worthy candidates, I became the bar-back.

I instantly became a special man, at that point.

Since the drinking age was 18 in Massachusetts at the time, I was technically not supposed to be allowed to be around alcohol at my age. But, the place was mob owned and run, and Jimmy didn't seem too concerned about adhering to any such laws.

So, I became a 17 year old who could go into Harry's Liquor Store (also mob owned and run) and buy alcohol, answering Harry's inquiry of "How's Jimmy?" at some point, as almost a code phrase between us.

And a 17 year old who could walk into the strip club named: Steaks and Crepes, and disappear right past the "employees only" sign and into the backstage area, where I had often been sent, by Jimmy, to get buckets of ice out of the ice machine that was there. It was a mob owned and operated ice machine, and it had naked young ladies walking to and fro by it, on their ways to and from the stage.

I had my cheek pinched a time or two while taking an awful long time to fill a couple buckets with ice.

I would then sit at the bar and watch the girls dance. The phone would ring and Leo would answer it, say: "Yeah, he's watching the girls," and then tell me: Jimmy say's put your eyeballs back in your head and get that ice over there before it melts!"

Those were the days.

That might have been my first chance in life to become a mobster, and I might still be working for Jimmy Fusco in some capacity if I hadn't decided to go to college in the fall of 1980.

"Good for you," he had said when I told him of my decision, but still shook his head as if lamenting the losing of a good bar-back.

He found a way to fire me shortly thereafter. He needed a full-time bar-back and staying out until 2 AM, helping myself to all the free alcohol I wanted, was not going to help me as a college student. I'm sure that was the real reason Jimmy let me go...

My "If you don't give me a dollar, I'll cry" expression, in case I ever have to skeeze...

**Ray was gay, and provided me with the first chance in my life to sell my body to a guy almost 3 times my age. "It's called hustling, but you can call it anything you want," Ray had said, in that 108 degree kitchen.

I declined, but wound up writing a pretty cool song entitled "Gay Ray," about him. "Hey, Ray, what do you say; how are you today do you feel OK, Gay Ray...? Hey Ray, the sky is gray, I'd love to stay, but I must be on my way..." type of lyrics, as I recall...

*** Now the same organization is providing me with a voucher to pay my rent for the rest of my natural life. From the cradle to the grave, C.S.S has me covered, it seems.

I'm afraid that my blog traffic has diminished because people see the pictures of me, and lose interest in a guitar player so ugly.
So...

Street Musician Daniel, from now on...

From now on, here I am, Street Musician Daniel (right).

This one was taken of me playing at the (new) Lilly Pad, on Lillian's front steps, as I try to do at least a few hours each night.

Teen aged girls can send money, guitar strings, selfies, kratom, whatever, to the address above.

Thank you in advance...